


Gradatim

by Temaris



Category: Primeval
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-28
Updated: 2011-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temaris/pseuds/Temaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After thinking Abby was dead Connor panics and then overthinks things.  Abby short circuits it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gradatim

**Author's Note:**

> Set the night of 2.6

Connor wasn't entirely sure about going back. He'd thought better of it about a million times since telling Caroline he couldn't stay -- the little snipes at Abby's makeup and clothes were just too much to bear on the raw edges of thinking he'd lost her.

He wished he'd just said it again, not high on fear and adrenaline, right there with her looking at him, the two of them perfectly safe... he nearly had. And then Caroline showed up, and somehow he'd followed her out of the building instead of staying and talking.

He'd left Caroline at the theatre. She'd been furious, and he ought to just break it off, but he didn't know how. If he was brutally honest, then yes, he was scared of what she might do -- the kickboxing thing was no joke, never mind her sharp tongue. But instead of going home as he'd meant to, indignant with Caroline and anxious about Abby, he wandered around the shops for nearly forty minutes before it finally dawned on him that he was just putting it off, and wasting time. He picked up some chocolate and had thought about bringing flowers too, but that seemed a little too much -- like dead plants might make up for telling Abby he loved her, then pretending it never happened and walking out with another girl.

He winced. Not smart. Plus, even if he got flowers odds were Rex would only eat them.

He had his hand on the door, but didn't turn the key. It was kind of terrifying. The last time he'd let himself in here she'd been dead. He'd thought she was dead.

Even now the thought stopped him cold. It was as though all thought vanished, blank and empty, and the world became a two dimensional canvas, nothing real left. It took him a moment to remind himself that she was alive -- kicking monster ass and giving him that challenging stare that for the first time seemed to mean: Then *say** something, why don't you?

Why hadn't he? It was his chance, the one chance he'd wanted, and given up on and feared gone forever and then given back, gloriously, amazingly. And he ballsed it up. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Enough freaking out on her doorstep. He had a second chance and he was going to take it if it killed him. And that meant starting by fixing things between them, setting things straight and--

Abby snapped open the front door and cocked her head at him. "Are you coming in or is the pavement just that comfortable?" she asked.

Connor stuttered and stumbled his way into the flat. It wasn't his most graceful moment, but they'd lived together for long enough that she wouldn't mind that. He thought. Hoped.

He frowned a little as she shook her head and disappeared into the kitchen. Maybe he didn't want her to think of him the way she always had.

"Abby?"

"Yeah? You want some tea?"

He bit his lip, "Yeah, sure. Look, Abby--" He fished the chocolate out of his pocket and followed her into the kitchen. "Here." He put it on the worktop and pushed it towards her. "I--"

"Didn't like the play?" she asked brightly, her back to him.

"No! I mean, I didn't-- I left before. Dammit Abby--"

"You ditched Caroline before you even got to the theatre?" she said lightly, and half turned. To his relief there was a faint smile on her face, and he couldn't help smiling in response. "Brave man."

Connor winced. "Yeah. I told her I had to--"

Abby didn't help him out at all, she just waited for the end of the sentence, and truth be told, he couldn't be absolutely sure what he said to Caroline, he'd just kind of bailed.

"Yes?"

"I told her you'd had a rough day and I couldn't leave you on your on!" There, he'd come out of that looking almost in one piece.

"*I* had a rough day?" Or not.

"We all had a rough day, Abby," he amended, and suddenly that was way too close to the truth. "I had an awful day," he said, staring at his feet but seeing nothing, the same way the apartment had blurred out of focus when he'd sat here thinking she was dead. He cleared his throat and looked up when he realised how long the silence had gone on for.

"Cutter said--" Abby paused and darted a quick look at Connor. "He said you all thought I was, you know. Dead."

That really wasn't helping. "Yeah," was all he managed to get out before he couldn't say anything, sure he would either start crying or his voice would break, or. "It was looking pretty. Permanent. For a while there."

"Is that why you said it?"

"No! Or at least, maybe?"

"But you didn't mean it?"

And suddenly it was crunch time, all over again. This was the conversation he'd wanted a re-run of, the reason he'd walked out no Caroline, the reason he'd dithered and swithered all the way home, and he still was utterly torn between fear that she'd laugh in his face, and the remembrance of the way she'd tucked herself under his arm in the far future.  
"Connor?"

He closed his eyes and went for it. "Yes, I meant it. Just don't make me say it?"

Abby laughed, and it felt like freefall. "Connor, you idiot." He still wasn't sure if there was a parachute, and squinted open one eye to find her standing in front of him, hands on her hips, grinning.

He opened the other eye and found himself grinning back at her. "Really?"

She rolled her eyes, stepped in and took his face firmly between her hands, and kissed him. Kissed him hard. And thoroughly. Very, very thoroughly. By the time they came up for air she was wrapped tightly in his arms and they were half way to the sofa and he was trying not to get too far ahead of himself, as it were.

Abby pushed him down onto the sofa and propped herself over him with a bright smile. She'd had a shower, and the smell of soap and warm girl almost overwhelmed his own consciousness of smelling like stagnant river water.

"I stink," he blurted, not quite meaning to, and Abby began to laugh.

"Yup," she agreed, and leaned down to press little kisses over his face. She paused and sniffed, then shrugged. "I've smelled worse."

"Oh, that's a recommendation," Connor said. "I should--"

"You should make it up to me."

"For stinking?"

"Yup. Metaphorical stinking more than actual, but either way." She poked him, mock frowning.

"Ow!"

"Big baby." But she kissed it better nonetheless. "I was the one kept captive by hairless giant seals and made to scramble all over rocks."

Connor twitched, and cupped her face, "I'm sorry." Abby rolled her eyes.

"That wasn't the intention idiot. I'm the one who kicked the crap out of it too, so, a little less of that, okay?"

Connor pulled her down to lie on him, and wrapped his arms tightly around her. "Don't, Abby." He buried on hand in her soft hair, and pressed his face into the crook on her neck. "I couldn't --"

He stopped. There was no good place to take that sentence. He'd killed the mood, such as it was, and now he'd have to relive that whole awful time.

Abby was saying something, he blinked hard, and felt her fingers brushing gently over his face. She'd pulled back a little, and he sniffed, swallowed hard, and tried on a smile for size. It didn't fit so well, but her return smile was almost as crooked and carried all the sympathy in the world.

"How about you get a shower, and we get some sleep?" she said gently. "We can pick this up in the morning." She rolled off him and perched on the edge of the sofa for a second, then stood and offered a hand up.

He looked at it for a moment then took it, and smiling, headed for the shower. He paused at the bathroom door. "So, when I'm done do I...?" He glanced up at her room, and then back at the sofa where he'd been sleeping since he moved in.

Abby grinned and threw a towel at him from where it had been hanging over the back of one of the chairs. "What do you think?" she said cheerfully, and at his panicked expression, "Upstairs in fifteen minutes."

"Right!"

The shower passed in such a blur that only the misted up mirror and wet hair really convinced him he'd washed instead of just standing under the water. Although he could smell flowers, which suggested he'd managed to use the wrong soap...

Abby was curled up in bed, and Connor found himself rooted to the floor. She looked asleep -- he couldn't bring himself to retreat, just give up and sidle back down the stairs as though nothing had happened.

"Abby?" he whispered. "You awake?"

"No," Abby said around a yawn, and smiled sleepily at him. "Come here."

Connor managed to whack his shin on the side of the bed in his hurry, and slid under the warmed duvet. There was an awkward silence, and he ventured a tentative, "Hello."

Abby wriggled, comprehensively, and somehow was a whole lot closer. With a hand just over the waistband of his boxers. He squeaked and she giggled into his shoulder. "T'morrow," she said, and slid a couple of fingers lower. "Talk allll about it tomorrow."


End file.
